Joan Pickart - A Ring For Christmas

Luke smiled. “Maggie, I’d love to discuss the wedding. You have no idea how much it means to me.”

“Well, the church is reserved for December twenty-third,” Maggie said, her voice ringing with excitement. “And I got the ballroom at the Majestic Palms Hotel sewn up for the reception.”

“The Majestic Palms,” Luke said, nodding in approval. “Classy. Very nice.”

“I have an appointment next week to meet with the chef to plan the buffet dinner at the reception. I still have oodles to do—you know, decide on the color of the tablecloths, the centerpieces, start shopping around for the exact shade of material I want for the bridesmaids’ dresses and, of course, there’s the wedding dress itself.”

“Yep.”

“What about the invitations, Luke? Do you think Precious and Clyde would prefer traditional ones that say the name of the parents or a more modern version where the couple themselves are inviting everyone to share their special event?”

Uh-oh, Luke thought, then took a big bite of pizza to give himself time to consider his answer. The invitations couldn’t be ordered with Precious and Clyde’s names on them. They didn’t even exist. Think, St. John.

“Um…why don’t you hold off on the invitations for now,” he said finally. “I should run that by Precious and Clyde just in case they have an idea as to what will make the mothers happy.”

“Okay. Would you ask them how they feel about tiny holly berries edging the invitations? I thought that would be so festive for a Christmas wedding.”

“I’m sure that part will be fine. There certainly are a lot of things to tend to for a picture-perfect wedding, aren’t there?”

“It takes months,” Maggie said, laughing, “and then—blink—the ceremony is over in about fifteen minutes.” She frowned in the next instant. “And in our family the marriage lasts about that long, too.”

Change the subject, Luke thought frantically. He didn’t want Maggie centering on the Jenkins Jinx, not tonight. Her beautiful eyes sparkled when she talked about the plans for the wedding, and the expression on her face was pure joy.

Not only that, he needed more superstitions for her to dismiss, to attempt to talk him out of believing, if he was to build a solid foundation for his case.

No, the Jenkins Jinx was definitely off-limits this evening.

“You know,” he said, “you’ve never seen my apartment. I was just thinking that I have some mint-chocolate-chip ice cream in my freezer. Would you like to go there for dessert?”

Maggie leaned toward him. “Mint-chocolate-chip?”

“That’s the one.”

“Two scoops?”

“Three scoops,” he said, holding up that many fingers.

“I have no willpower when it comes to mint-chocolate-chip ice cream,” Maggie said. “Oh, my, three scoops.”

“I thought you might like that flavor,” Luke said, appearing extremely pleased with himself. “See how well I’m getting to know you, Maggie? It boggles the mind.”

It terrifies the mind, Maggie thought. They were becoming so connected, bonded, on the same wavelength and…Never mind. She wasn’t going to get all in a dither about it.

She was about to have three scoops of mint-chocolate-chip ice cream. Ah, yes, life was good.

“My goodness,” Maggie said, taking in Luke’s enormous living room. “This is incredible, just beautiful. I’ve never been in a penthouse apartment before. The view is fabulous. I’d probably lose track of time and just sit for hours gazing out those windows at the city lights. You must look forward to coming home each day after work, Luke.”

Not anymore, Luke thought as he stared at the awed expression on Maggie’s face. Now it was just a whole lot of empty space waiting for Maggie to fill it to overflowing with her sunshine, laughter and…well, by just being Maggie.

“Ready for that ice cream?” he said.

“Sure. Can I see the kitchen?”

Luke laughed. “Follow me. It’s fun to experience this place through fresh eyes.”

Maggie gushed on and on about the fantastic kitchen as Luke scooped out the ice cream. As he picked up the bowls to carry them to the table, he dropped one of the spoons.

“Darn,” he said.

“I’ll get it,” Maggie said, retrieving the spoon from the floor and rinsing it under the faucet.

They settled onto chairs opposite each other at the round oak table and Maggie took several mouthfuls of the dessert before she realized that Luke was staring into space.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

“I was just wondering what child was going to come visit me and I’m coming up blank.”

“I beg your pardon?” Maggie said, obviously confused.

“When you drop a spoon it means a child will visit. A fork brings a woman to your door, and a knife indicates the visitor will be a man.”

“Is that a fact,” Maggie said drily.

“Yep.”

“Mmm,” Maggie said, frowning at him.

“It’s true,” Luke said, leaning toward her. “I dropped a knife last month and—bingo—Robert popped in for no reason other than he was in the neighborhood.”

“Robert is your brother. It makes perfect sense that he’d like to see you. It has nothing to do with the knife you dropped, Luke.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, another time it was a fork, and you’d better believe I shoved all the dirty dishes in the dishwasher before the knock came at the door. And there she was, my mother, bringing me some brownies she’d baked.” He paused. “I wonder what little kid…Are Girl Scouts selling cookies now or something?”

“Halt,” Maggie said, raising one hand. “Has Robert ever come by unannounced before?”

“Well…yes.”

“And is your mother in the habit of bringing you homemade baked goods?”

“Yes, but—”

“I rest my case. Your fumble-fingers with the silverware was just a coincidence, nothing more. Another one of those superstitions you should forget about.”

“Think so?”

“Know so.” Maggie took another spoonful of ice cream. “Mmm. This is delicious. You’d better start on yours before it melts.”

“You’re really punching holes in my superstitions, you know,” Luke said, then started in on his dessert.

“They can control your life if you’re not careful,” Maggie said.

Luke laughed. “Not all of them. There’s one just for women. If she goes out in public and her slip shows, it means her father loves her more than her mother does.”

“No, Luke, it means that either her slip is too long or her dress is too short.”

“What you’re saying makes sense, I guess. Then again…hmm. I’ll have to think about this.” He paused. “Enough about superstitions. I’m going to go put some music on. I’ll be right back.”

A few moments later Maggie stiffened in her chair as the sound of lilting music reached her.

Oh, God, she thought, that was one of the waltzes she and Luke had danced to at Ginger and Robert’s wedding. The beautiful song evoked special memories she intended to keep for all time. Did Luke remember why that particular tune was so meaningful or was it just a coincidence that he had put it on? No, men didn’t get caught up in things like that. Music was music.

Luke came back into the kitchen and stood next to Maggie’s chair.

“Recognize that waltz?” he said quietly. “We danced to it at Robert and Ginger’s wedding. I asked the band leader what it was and went out and bought it so I could play it when you came here.”

“Really?” Maggie said, a warmth suffusing her and creating a flush on her cheeks. “You did that? Of course I remember it, Luke, but to think that you went to all this trouble to…I don’t know what to say.”